Road trips, brutha. We all did them in college. I once joined three fraternity brothers for a frantic drive from Waco to Houston for an Astros game, and then back, all in one night. The next morning I burped hot dogs through professor Harrison's accounting class.
I also once picked up a friend’s new Range Rover from Las Vegas and drove it back to Dallas across Hoover Dam, through the Painted Desert and through the small towns of West Texas. All the way I breathed in the air at 80 miles an hour, ate greasy hamburgers from waitresses named “Flo” and felt so uniquely American.
What is it about road trips that are so enticing? Why at a certain ages, and yes I said ages, do we find the call to simply jump in the family roadster, hit the freaking pedal, map be damned, so intoxicating?
I bring this up because football season is upon us (see previous post), and this fall I feel the yearning to stand up at my desk and tell no one that I am leaving for the day. I would then get in my car and head to any one of these locations: Ann Arbor, MI, Tuscalosa, AL, Los Angeles, CA, Columbus OH, and Gainseville, FL. And those are just a few. I would then buy a golden ticket and enter the stadium as a complete nobody. And I mean, I want to be as no-descript as possible so I can sit there and take in the complete glory of the day.
And it’s not just about the football. It’s about the crisp autumn day, the absolute kaleidoscope of colors unfolding in front of me, the people I would meet and the adventures I would have.
Maybe this appeals to the 12 year old in me that wanted to sail pirate ships and explore space…that blonde haired, fat faced kid who wanted nothing more than to run out the front door, yelling “see ya Mom!” and find bugs, girls, sports, bullies, bike races and friends.
Gas up the Honda.
I also once picked up a friend’s new Range Rover from Las Vegas and drove it back to Dallas across Hoover Dam, through the Painted Desert and through the small towns of West Texas. All the way I breathed in the air at 80 miles an hour, ate greasy hamburgers from waitresses named “Flo” and felt so uniquely American.
What is it about road trips that are so enticing? Why at a certain ages, and yes I said ages, do we find the call to simply jump in the family roadster, hit the freaking pedal, map be damned, so intoxicating?
I bring this up because football season is upon us (see previous post), and this fall I feel the yearning to stand up at my desk and tell no one that I am leaving for the day. I would then get in my car and head to any one of these locations: Ann Arbor, MI, Tuscalosa, AL, Los Angeles, CA, Columbus OH, and Gainseville, FL. And those are just a few. I would then buy a golden ticket and enter the stadium as a complete nobody. And I mean, I want to be as no-descript as possible so I can sit there and take in the complete glory of the day.
And it’s not just about the football. It’s about the crisp autumn day, the absolute kaleidoscope of colors unfolding in front of me, the people I would meet and the adventures I would have.
Maybe this appeals to the 12 year old in me that wanted to sail pirate ships and explore space…that blonde haired, fat faced kid who wanted nothing more than to run out the front door, yelling “see ya Mom!” and find bugs, girls, sports, bullies, bike races and friends.
Gas up the Honda.
2 comments:
tobe and I enjoy a good road trip as well. One of the first times we really hung out we drove to Mexic and back in a day. We are a bit strange like that.
Tobe really wanted to road trip from Abilene to Canada and back over a weekend (this was in college), but could never find anyone who didn't think this idea was a bit crazy.
Road trip baby....road trip. It's in my blood. I grew up in the back of a genuine faux wood paneled station wagon...watching the world whir by as I jammed to my cassette walkman (hence my love for the 80s music...bad as it was...and by bad I mean good...ya get the point). As a road tripper, I have inherited my father's amazing "point A to B" philosophy. You know of it? It states one travels from Point A (home) to Point B (destination) and stops ONLY for petrol. No potty breaks (that's why they invented empty coke bottles...not that I would know), no food stops (bless the man who invented the cooler....ya ya, I know the sandwiches are soggy...who cares), and certainly no sympathy for careless intake of food and beverage. It's as simple as this: me, vehicle, open road, cooler under my arm, and over half a tank of fuel to go with a full bladder.
One other topic to note on road trips...the silly games we play. 1. How far past the slash can I go until I stop for gas? 2. How fast can I really go before I get pulled over for speeding (45 in a construction zone on the interstate...that's crazy)? 3. How sleepy can I really get before I wake up and grab some coffee (ok, that was the last time, next time I pull over)
4. How long can I really wait before I actually inflict medical damage to myself before stopping at a rest area (which is, of course, in direct conflict with the Point A to B mindset).
Stitch out.
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